Mass Effect: Lander
by lander01
Summary: Sexually explicit content. Cannot overstate it. Do not click unless you are prepared to read extremely sexually explicit material in the Mass Effect Universe. Continuing from an old story called Black Rain; the second volume is set in the lost colony of Lander. A pre-industrial society that has existed alone for over 700 years. Open the story to find out more.
1. Introduction

This is the continuation of Mass Effect: Black Rain. If you're unaware of Black Rain, you would do well to know now, this series does not intend to enthral you with twists and turns and betrayal. It does include those, it isn't written to be a dull experience, but I am fully aware of its primary appeal; sex. This is the shameless focus.

If this interests you, below is a synopsis of the story.

 **...**

The Normandy was attacked, and all the crew pursued. This caused a state of panic in the alliance. Small terrorist acts were carried out all across the galaxy on a number of their outposts and soldiers and ships.

Shepard assembled a small team from who remained from his crew and acquired a lightning little ship called the Black Rain.

He set out in the galaxy to pursue the attackers and through his journey he and his team discovered a hidden base of operations in Omega for an organisation called PEReL.

PEReL specialise in the sex trade and genetic modification, though also have branches in weaponry and such. Anything the civilised systems outlaw; PEReL deals in.

The Sex trade branch is named "Milk", and variations of exist for sub categories. Male workers 'Milk Men', and females "Milk Maids". The team discovered that people were being snatched off silent, old planets. Unimportant, inconsequential, unmissed individuals to be sent through processing. A grim business involving genetic modification to enhance ones physicality and libido under very specific guidelines as to produce prime sex workers to ship around the galaxy as 'Milk Shop Workers'; Public use facilities where anyone who can walk in the door can pay for use. Or personal use; extraordinarily wealthy individuals could pay for a Milk Man or Milk Maid to live for their own personal use. PEReL had a reputation in the underworld as the gold standard of sex crime organisations staffed by the gold standard of Sex Workers.

The Alliance notified the Black Rain crew of a small Planet called Trident in the Hoplos System. An old alliance team crashed on the grassy, wooded surface of the watery, windy marble and to the great shame of the alliance, they abandoned the mission and the team alike. Hundreds of years later the alliance became aware of an old distress signal originating from there. With reason to believe it could be related to PEReL, Black rain investigated.

They found a pre-industrial civilisation sprawled across the green-lands up to the edges of the deep forest. During windy mayhem like the breath of god they landed and through an old Alliance Soldier who used to know Shepard and was inexplicably living there they retrieved a rare token from him for a request from the queen of Lander.

Along the way they found a young farmer's daughter called Isabella whom Miranda and Shepard saved from a distressing encounter. She lead them both on horseback through miles of forest to the tall thriving stone city of Lander.

They met with the queen and she obliged Shepard's request for information on PEReL or the Milk Maid program. The Queen referred to the two beside him, Isabella and Miranda as two prime examples of Milk Maids. Before she could go on Miranda insisted she had never been involved in the program.

The queen stepped down and analysed her, so certain was she in her assesment. Through myriad unconcealable physical evidence that Miranda had undergone the specific bio-modification all Milkers do, Miranda admitted that she had under gone bio-modification in the embryonic period. Logic lead her to her estranged father. She needed a day or so to give it all some thought. The Queen, or Jane as she is now known to Miranda comforted her as she realised her identity in the community of Maids.

Isabella lead a curious Shepard to an old Milking school. One of 7 Houses that foster and care for the specific needs of people born from two milk workers and thus burdened with the modified DNA and struggle in common society.

He came across an extraordinary woman of advanced age named Miss Magram who told a thrilling story of the origins of the Milk workers on this planet. The invasion. The capture. The processing. The break out and the integration back into society and how culture had changed with introduction of Milk workers.

Miranda had run off to the citadel with the promise of a quick return to her kind queen-friend to engage in one of the moments of intercourse I have spread throughout the story. And this time with Admiral Anderson.

Shepard was to be found in the company of the students of the Magram house with Isabella and the Owner: Miss Magram.

Joker and the team were awaiting Miranda in the citadel, unaware of the goings on in Anderson's office.

 **...**

If you are interested in reading a new chapter, you would do perfectly fine starting from here. There is no need to endure 14 old Chapters that are covered in adequate detail in the synopsis. This separate continuation marks a stark improvement in writing and story and so I suggest starting here. And if indeed you are going to start here, below are the relationships that have developed over Black rain to bring you up to speed.

 **...**

 **Shepard - Age - (31)**

 **Shepard** has engaged once with **Isabella(23)**. A young farmer's daughter and celebrated student of the Magram house who gave up a life of Milk Maiding early to aid her father with his struggling farm. Miss Magram, The elderly lady who ran the Magram school was so taken by the Charm of Shepard she insisted that her old student, Isabella please her guest in Magram's personal chamber. She with the young vigour of an eager student took to the request and brought him to fruition with her breasts and mouth. Neither showed any clear attraction.

 **Shepard** and **Miranda(35)** engaged in sex from the beginning with no clear alteration in their existing relationship. Though they have gone roughly 30% of the story now, without so much as sharing a kiss.

Once, with **Miranda's(35)** Identical twin **Oriana(35)** , the three engaged in a threesome. Oriana has since moved on.

Along his Travels **Shepard** met the **High Matriarch of Thessia(782)**. A big breasted, sexually obsessed matriarch with a small, skittish, young assistant. The Matriarch has fallen in a Shakespearian tragic love-obsession with him and his sexuality. They parted her on weepy terms. The Matriarch is awaiting his return. It has been a while.

Once he underwent a medical procedure by the **High Matriarch's(782)** **personal doctor(39)** who visits at regular intervals. He received some dexterous relief.

Once **Shepard** engaged with a member of his crew called **Shiala(353)**. He and his team rescued her from a milker facility and helped her break the oath she was forced to make by having sex against her vows, which allowed her to make new ones and join his crew.

And again once with **Samara(613)**. It was a brief encounter. He was taken by her spell. She turned him over to the enemies afterwards and has since been revealed as a Milk Maid and is nowhere to be found.

 **Miranda - Age - (35)**

 **Shepard(31)**. See above.

 **Miranda** also engaged with **Joker(30)**. He pleaded relentlessly, insisting his brittle bone disease kept him from achieving self gratification. She started reluctantly, but bought him to a release with her hands. Since then she has been tied to him, giving him releases as and when he needs them. So far he has requested her services 3 times. Each time she shows a reluctance and bossiness. Though last time she was overcome and vocalised a little too much. They haven't spoken on the matter since.

 **Miranda** has just had intercourse with **Anderson(50)**. She was extremely reluctant, but through blackmail he got her to open up. She is not pleased with him or herself.

She has engaged with a man named **Yerdis(42)**. An exotic man with no past, a trained Royal Milker. A royal Milker is a qualified Milk worker who is at the beck and call of the royal family. The Queen (or Jane) afforded Miranda access to him in the hopes that she would recognise her identity as a Milk Maid.

 **Joker - Age - (30)**

 **Miranda(35)**. See above.


	2. Chapter 1

Author's note: This chapter, I'm afraid is sure to disappoint many who are accustomed to the content of the chapters I have been known to write. This one features no sex, no swearing, and it's quite short to boot. The reason for this is I grew tired quickly writing the original draft. That style of writing has, I feel, finally run its course with me.

There was a deliberate style, (believe it or not) to the seemingly dumb _Mass Effect: Black Rain_ content; I sprinkled about dirty, salacious adjectives like they were going out of style to draw simple clear pictures, step by step and from every possible angle and interpretation to give the reader no doubt of every motion that was being performed and what it felt like. And based on the figures for that story, it worked.

But I'm growing tired of that style, and so spawned from that, comes this. It's not something I'll necessarily continue, but I wanted to at least get _some_ decent writing out before the story ends.

I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

Additional note: To make things more interesting, this time around I invested more than a moment's worth of thought into names and locations, and so some changes have been made. Lander, for example, is now a booming industrial metropolis, instead of a pre-industrial seaside port-city. Also a completely inconsequential character has been cut and the crew has been thinned out.

* * *

In the time that passed, Joker had walked in, vocal chords a'twitter, shaking at the already quaky knees and admonished by Anderson. Fingers interlaced, firmly against his desk, eyes the black of bedrock. And not a word was uttered since.

Operative Miranda Lawson had climbed from under the desk. She climbed back into her clothes. And she climbed back onto her ship.

The Black Rain, it was called. As the Normandy SR2 that lay hundreds of chunks of hull and engine on a memorial site back on earth, 'The Rain' was acquired and provided to the slimmed team. A Class 1 Fighter-Craft, equipped not for reconnaissance, long-range cruising and easy living that the SR2 was, but lightening probing operations and strafe attacks with the under-mounted gatling-rails and revolving 'pellet punchers.

The body was 100 feet long and sloped at the tip. The hull underneath bloated and drooped as if swollen by the guns and wheels it carried. Where It rose back up at the rear and met the tail there could be seen the four most complex engines ever built for a craft of that size. Two long arms were attached to hips of the ship angled (currently) at 10 to 4. At the apex of both arms were the ball mounted, swivel engines at 28 feet a piece that could function on two types of propulsion: Mass Effect fields for FTL travel and nuclear ION plasma for local travel within systems.

Inside the ship was a cramped mess of electronics, antenna control, gun calibration stations, star-bloom-proof observation ports for tactical observation, ION plasma refuelling stacks for the engines, ready packed meals and guns. Lots of guns.

On a zero-G trip down the tunnels and lanes that made the innards, one would come across 9 rooms; 3 Bedrooms accommodating 4. A cramped eating area. A single unisex bathroom servicing 4 a time. A wash room. A pilot's quarters. A Captain's quarters. And a weapons room. All interconnected by thin tunnels to float through and a flat floor at the bottom when landed.

The team, save Shepard, was on-board.

Joker, _the Pilot_

Miranda, _the soldier_.

EDI, _the AI._

Shiala, _the Information Specialist_.

They were on their way back to Lander, taking it slowly as Joker's resolve and concentration was not what it should be. Miranda drifted into the bathroom and stripped for a _long_ hot shower to wash away the scent of the Admiral.

Inside the shower cabin, the water began to bubble up from the floor under her feet and rise slowly. She grabbed an oxygen mask from the ceiling and held it between her lips as the water level passed her navel, her breasts, her chin and consumed her head whole. She scrubbed and washed herself down, floating in thick hot water.

When her skin was red raw and her arms tired from repetitive scrubbing, the water drained out and she floated free from the shower, soft and warm, over to her steam washed, uniform hovering, stationary above some taps. She reached for it and pushed her feet to the floor. When she looked up, the condensation had cleared and looking at her from the mirror was herself. She stood straight at it and tilted her chin. Twitched her cheek. Lifted her arm. Some curiosity held her here, just looking at herself experimenting with body movements.

Miranda Lawson stood 5 foot 9 in bare feet. From head to heel, a milky consistency to her complexion. Her lips were plump and pale, the colour of cyclamen and her eyes that of polished steel. She stood on thin legs, packed of little but muscle and held with fully capable arms. Her stomach was thin and solid. Mostly smooth from breast to pubic. But to the touch, light definitions of a deep plane of solid muscle lay beneath the skin. Her backside were two tight bubbles, stuffed of thick malleable muscle. Between, a crevice inches deep.

For a moment as she spun around weightless in the bathroom, seeing the gunmetal shade of grating that made the walls and floor spin around her, she caught a blink of her teeth between a modest smirk in the mirror.

Moments later she was in her uniform as tight and economical as herself drifting out of the bathroom carrying her old industrial rags to the wash-room.

 **\- Miss Magram - 2100 hours - Lander - walking -**

Commander Shepard and Isabella were racing on horseback over the shallow, rolling hills and farmland spread out from the immense industrial city of Lander towards the great forest, known as The Hordes.

The city behind them rang and cranked and smoked and screamed for miles. Smoke rolled up the sky from the depths of factories and tall commercials alike, like the breath of some concrete, coal fuelled, crane-lifted monster on its last legs groaning at the sky.

As they past the first tree to The Hordes and then a second, the city's grating sound diminished to nothing, then the rustle of leaves and bounding of hooves in the soaked mud

Back in Lander a burst cloud overcast the city and battered it muddy and wet. Miss Magram stood on the pavement, a big golden arch behind her blooming with rows of electrically powered bulbs and lead cut-outs of lettering that read MAGRAM MILKY ACADEMY. She looked up into the sky through her bifocal round-rimmed glasses, and let the misty pellets of rain hit her face.

She took a step forward and looked back at the arch. _Two steps up_ , she thought, _two steps up and back through those doors. Back home. Back in the warmth. And the chaos_. She took another brave step out into the night and looked around. She was being passed unnoticed on all sides by gloomy gaunt men in cloaks and top hats, passing one moment and lost the next. An occasional woman in tow dressed to the nines in utterly unflattering, thick, slumping frocks in colours as moody as the dark sky. She spun around and looked herself in a curtained window to her own building. She was no better she thought. Her skin was just as coarse. She lathered herself in just as much thick paint hide it. and her wide black dress was _just_ as obtrusive and people went to _just_ as many pains to drag a compliment forth.

She hurriedly walked away from the windows and through the hustle of the street. Her fingertips pulling the skirt from the wet concrete.

The buildings loomed over head. Great long, wide constructions, bellowing smoke, grinding, pulsing light through the dense misty windows. Cacophonous were the sounds. Howling, squealing, indistinguishable conversation, a crash here and a clang there. A light bulb bursting overhead. A motor car spluttering and choking on oil. A train rattling rails overhead hissing thick streams of smoke.

Just above her, when she looked, ran above-ground rail and was carrying a screaming, burning, smoking coal train into a building 30 stories up to be unloaded. All over the city gaping holes were cut into buildings to make for docking points like those.

She made her way for a train station, paid her 9 credits and took shelter under a glass roof to dry off as the rain beat down all around. A train trundled to a stop and bellowed a great horn and everyone got on. She made for her own leather two-seat and pushed up against the window.

Then she produced a piece of paper and pencil from her tight sleeve and flattened it's creases against the rainy glass as the train made off from _Crime-way Station_. She leaned into her pencil and began to write as the dense jungle of buildings and flashing lights and and the crowds fell dancing through the dew and she rose into the mix of overhead rails.

The ride was far from smooth. Writing wasn't easy. But stations came and went and her small stubbornly elegant handwriting filled the page. The note was to Commander Shepard. She wished him well. And for the Hordes' holy winds to carry him the way. "I hope you have bought the man to justice, Shepard." She wrote over and over as if to make it true. "You do not know his importance. I regret with a heavy heart that I did not tell you, but I couldn't. Surely if you are reading this you have learned my reasons." And she continued.

When she looked up she saw a familiar plume of smoke in the distance outside the city between two tall skyscrapers. Unwieldy. Blowing and curling and licking at the sky. Below it a long pit of fire. She clenched the paper in her hands and rested her forehead against the window as the rain fired down and a tall building suddenly swallowed the carriage. She got up and hurried onto the platform with about 15 others and saw the train off back into the muddle of the city.

 _Highway Station_ stood over 40 floors and below 25 more. Either side passengers flooded in and burst out two gates towards the elevators beyond or the platforms where Magram stood. She walked up to a glass cubicle where a gaunt, sallow, bespectacled man sat hunched smoking a droopy cigarette. He spun around on his chair and scooted over to her, "yes?" He couldn't have been older than 25.

"Could you hold this note for me?" She gently placed it crumpled up against the slit, threatening to force it through onto his lap.

"Wussit for?"

"You can't read it."

"Alright. I'll take it."

His eyes were the colour bodies turn in a mortuary. He dragged his sagging shirt back across his shoulders into position and wiped his nose and took a drag with a perfunctory that would be laughable if not for Magram's wrinkled sincerity looking back at him like a hostage into a camera.

She decided against trusting him and he rolled back to his newspaper. She looked around helpless. The people all satisfactorily filtered into elevator or station. Everything was still.

She walked over to the golden railings that stopped people from tripping off the edge and looked down. Motor cars and people, and smoke and rain and steel and iron and glass and golden bulbs.

She unclenched her fist and looked at the scrunch of paper. It had developed a soggy tear.

Another train came and she caught it.

 **\- Shepard . Isabella - 2200 hours - The Hordes - Horseback -**

They had ridden clean of the rain and mud and deep into The Hordes following leads of the man Magram made mention of. The man who burned the mining village. But within 2 miles nearly every line of inquiry ran dry. Every pertinent forest-village went silent. All tracks had been erased by the wind. Their only remaining lead was the direction. North.

"North. Just keep going north" Magram would say.

Isabella's thighs were sore, her wrists were cramped, her chest throbbed from the bounding up and down and her resolve was diminishing with every tree she passed. It went on endlessly. Ahead, a wall of bark and leaves getting only darker. Above a weave of tree limbs getting thicker, branch by branch, now the two-moons and the distant supernovae blossoming against the nightscape became harder and harder to spot.

They rode on. North.

3 hours later they were threading through the trees in the pitch darkness holding lanterns out over the horse's heads. Looking warily for the shape of something, anything that wasn't dark and tall and sprouting leaves from heavy, crooked arms.

The woods receded meaninglessly as they rode limply, the bumps and long round shoulder movements of their steeds. Only their deepening tiredness and ache to tell time was moving at all. Everything remained unchanged for miles, save one moment when a gentle flicker of golden light that passed bloomed and receded between the trees.

"Look." Isabella said, swinging her lantern in it's direction.

They rode up and found a small clearing of trees. The first for hours. A modest hut of slatted oak wood and a rough, thatched roof with a big burn patch like a birthmark from one side to the other. The door, frail, unfitting in its frame, spilled light under and pooled on the step-beaten soil. Small port hole windows were at the sides, and back, and beside the door, but were all curtained with rags.

They very slowly rode around the back and found a small hairless man with glassy eyes uprooting deathroots and tossing them into a rickety wheel-cart. Shepard called for his attention. And so did Isabella. He was wearing a torn and stained tunic as green as dead leaves. It bloomed at his neck and sagged at his wrists, a formless shadow of it's former design from years of wear.

They called for him again and he looked up at to two proud steeds padding at the ground mounting soldiers.

"I don't want no trouble."

"We're not here for trouble." Shepard said.

"Well ya won't get none from me. Anyway."

Shepard got down from his mount.

The man grabbed his cart and wheeled it around back to the front of his hut. "No trouble." He said.

Isabella rode up and walked along side. "Sir. We're looking for a man."

The man looked up at her. The clouds in his eyes seemed to part for a moment. There was an intent in his look. "No. No trouble. Leave me land. Go on. Off wit'ya."

They rode off his land for about 30 seconds and hid behind some trees and constructed some shelter from the equipment hanging from the hips of their mounts. They jabbed 8 sharpened iron poles into the ground at an angle that made contact 5 feet above them then draped a heavy cloth over the top. Shepard crawled in first and tossed two thick laying-mats at the end and removed his loose fitting white shirt and leather buckles.

Isabella stood by her horse and stripped herself of all of her clothing and stuffed it in her horse's satchel.

Lean and tanned; a body of 5 foot 8. Thin ankles and wrists punctuated two tall slender legs and lean capable arms. Her waist sloped away from her stomach, which had hints of perky, tight muscle in the form sharp little shades laddering up to her rib cage. Further up her moody, tall, golden body were great boulders of tumbling breast; unblemished by white patches where cloth might conceal a sunny day. Thick and stiff nipples persisted, stubbornly in the cold. Above her swollen young breasts, a protruding set of collarbones, thin shoulders and a tight young neck that lead up to a head of chestnut hair and a face of experienced youth. Wide eyes and small unobtrusive nose. Lips often parted in the middle just enough for the white pierce through. Her hair a ponytail. Always a ponytail.

She stamped in on all fours, the mats were laid out and Shepard was asleep on his side in his underwear. Isabella fell into her own mat and lay face down. Within Minutes she was asleep.

 **\- Miranda - 12.78 Km/h - Orbit over Trident - Black Rain-**

Miranda drifted down a tunnel from her sleeping quarters, weightless, tapping at the walls to keep her trajectory true. She clasped the cold steel rim of an observation port and swung flag-like as she brought herself to a stop.

The two moons Miranda only knew as 'the big beige one', and 'the one with the burn' were passing above and below each other and parted to reveal the 'Six-Second' supernovae. It's core was steel blue and around it wrapped two bright green arms of pure energy locking it from the sprouting dragon-red plumage reaching behind the dissolved edges of the planet.

The ship was cold to the touch. The engines were whirring dully. There was no movement save the swirling of clouds across the blue below. Miranda counted her breath and saw it dissolve as mist from the air. She tapped the metal, she just wanted to hear something in the hollow.

She swam off down the tunnel into the Centre-Sphere. A spherical gape in the hull of the ship where all the tunnels and rooms were connected.

Joker was motionless in the eating quarters alone before a crumpled carton of water by his ear, looking off out the porthole ahead of him idly.

"Joker."

"Hey Miranda."

"It's really quite quiet."

"It's _really_ quiet. I miss the Normandy."

"So do I."

"The Black Rain is fine, but it's-" He bit his lip.

"Cold." Miranda said.

"Well, yeah. And uncomfortable."

"And gravity-less"

"But mainly it's not the Normandy."

"I just miss gravity." Joker looked at her, she was rigid on a chair and breathing heavily at the small round table focusing on the swirly aluminium pattern.

"Well everything is much easier if you stop forcing yourself onto surfaces in zero-g."

"I don't feel like I should be able to breathe. This doesn't feel natural." There was a pause between the two. "I grew up in stasis." She paused like she expected Joker to say something. "My father made me and my sister sleep in stasis chambers from I think 6 or 7 to 11 years old. So we could grow into our bio-modifications. And it was _liquid_ stasis, so we floated. We had to learn to breathe through the oxygen drip in our necks." She rubbed the pale skin over her trachea. There was a pin prick; a small red dot. "My windpipe keeps pulling on itself when I'm not paying attention." The moment the last word left her mouth she tightened and struggled to breathe again. _Should not have said that,_ she thought, feeling suddenly naked and bare in front of him.

Joker tried to come up with something to say but tripped over his own tongue.

"We really are a pair of idiots aren't we?" When Miranda delivered that axiom, braced to the table edges with her hands counting her breath, the ship began to shake and buzz.

"EDI." Joker called out loud.

"Yes Joker. I have spotted 13 enemy vessels ahead. All uncloaked. I don't think they know we are here." The 4 rear engines began to sing like some portal into an angels choir had opened. "I'm bracing engines for sudden evacuation." Then the portals turned around and the pits of hell screamed out. EDI made mention of a few more functions as Joker swam up to the cockpit and Miranda to a porthole. "Antennas extended. All weapons primed." The Black Rain bulked up and sprouted all manner of sinister, sharp instruments along its frame.

They may well have been nigh on an outnumbering force of larger ships, but only a group of fools would challenge something with so many guns and engines and so little space for captives.

It trucked along in low-orbit, a nasty, malefic fighter ship, nose-dipped, shaking with energy, ready to pounce.

A messy formation of ships swung into view. The entire crew had their face planted against a porthole, watching them as they grew larger and slipped overhead. No one fired and no one attempted a communication.

"They're cold." Joker reported.

"And." EDI added. "In geosynchronous orbit with Lander."

"Well, are there are people on them?" Miranda replied into the empty room.

"Yeah, I'd guess so. But they're all _cold_. _Nothing_ is running."

"Planning an attack? How long have they been cold?"

"Can't say."

There was an expectant, pregnant pause.

"I cannot say." EDI said.

"Well swing around again, and we'll get another look. Any information we can gather on them at all?"

There was another pause.

"A ship is turning on." Joker said. "We're getting readings. It's following. Cloaked."

"Let it follow." Miranda said.

Lagging far behind, imperceptibly small, its behaviour suggested a very capable reconnaissance ship. It followed them half way around the planet's orbit doing nothing other clinging to the Black Rain's tail.

"Miranda, I'm reading activity on the other 12 ships. They're all lighting up and dispersing." Joker reported.

"Don't put the weapons away. Keep the engines spinning." She pushed away from the porthole and travelled up to the cockpit where EDI's body and Shiala were already. She looked out the front screen along with everybody else and thought.

"Miranda." Joker tapped at a screen beside his stick. It was crammed with jumbled information and scrolling data too fast for her eyes. "This graph here." he said, "They're closing in around us in a spherical formation"

"Keep everything primed."


	3. Chapter 2

Joker and Miranda were bucking into quietly into each other stolen away in the showers, with all the inelegancy of 2 horses in heat. Like a stud kicking with his haunches, blowing staggering thrusts into his receptacle, Miranda was taking the frenzied might of Joker's member. Over the weeks following what was being referred to as 'The Encounter', where a cluster of unidentified ships in the orbit of Planet Trident splintered upon the Black Rain's approach and armed weapons before fleeing, a the crew had been keeping unusually sedentary at the behest of command. They were to wait, spiralling around Trident until either they made contact again for a month elapsed.

In the spec of the cabin against the bright blue blotch of in space, the 4 crew members milled about like ants in an ant hill performing their duties, eating, 'blaring' signals to attract the attention of the 'Encounter' ships, and playing cards. They had lapsed into sedentary lethargy. No one was used to life on a vessel of this size. As each day passed the web of interpersonal connections blurred and fuzzed. They greeted each other less frequently, and developed a greater tolerance for each others personal hygiene. At dinner they sat in total silence, head dipped into their trays, stabbing lumpy packages of dried oats and other earth arrangements. As they performed their duties; general maintenance, sewage purging, etc. the aural variety they benefited from keeping their sanity was the breath of the atmosphere, the quivering and quaking of the ship.

As the Black Rain spun around the concave slopes of Trident's orbit in 'long-live mode', it hissed, and tapped and sighed. The crew members were beginning to grow fond of the Black Rain.

In this slow sliver of their life, where hours passed a whole hour at a time, their need for connection diminished in all but one fashion. Couplets of crew members: Miranda and Joker, EDI and Shiala, paired secretly (not so secretly), to tend to in a matter-of-fact way the reality of mounting sexual tension in the ship.

Once a day, sometimes twice, a couplet would steel themselves away into a quiet, un-parolled part of the ship and hump away with the furore of slum-children discovering sex for the first time. It was matter-of-fact, and without the flavour of emotional frenzy that so often breathes life into sex.

In the course of 7 minutes, Joker had taken Miranda to climax on the floor with his hands, and his cock - upright in the gravityless confines of the shower, where she quivered and released down the thighs of her partner.

They heaved and huffed in close confines. Miranda's left leg slung over Joker's shoulder, and he with thick purchase on her backside, squeezing the very paleness from her meat. He sank himself inside over and over, the pleasure never seeming to wane. He knew his part of the social contract was fulfilled with a lap full of her expulsion, now he was only concerned with milking himself.

"I think I'm ready" Joker whispered. And as if the command was issued to a machine, Miranda kicked off the floor and arranged herself in a different position, standing with her back to him.

He smooshed the pillowey meat of her backside over his swelling member and thrust with his thighs through it. When his load began to spill it did it in characteristically long, built-up pulses. Like blood from an arterial wound - and in similar volumes too. Some pulses flew through the zero-g environment and slid up her back, other got caught in the plunge of her backside and slicked her cheeks and his meat all up in his cum. About 200 millilitres of soupy seed pumped from his balls and the session came to a word-less end. The shared shower filled with water and the pair scrubbed each other down.


End file.
